Chapter 8: The Origin of The Mark

Cicero decided to speak with Maximus before he spoke with Ursa the next morning. She had only two nights left in that horrible place. He begged the gods to keep her safe and away from the emperor until then. He approached the gate of the gladitorial training yards. Maximus noticed him and walked towards him, smiling brightly.

"Cicero, my very dear friend. I thought I should never see you again.", Maximus whispered as he grabbed Cicero's arm at the elbow.

"We thought you were dead.", Cicero replied quietly.

"Who is we? You and Ursa?", Maximus asked.

"Not only her and myself, there is an insurrection. We are small, but we are cunning. We even have connections with Lady Lucilla on occassion.", Cicero explained. "We seek to undo the evil that will be Commodus at full power."

"He has more than deserved power right now. I will undo his evil.", Maximus hissed. Cicero smiled. He had all but ignored the documents Ursa had given him detailing the innocence of the young emperor. Those facts weren't important to their cause. They needed names, numbers, times, places, and plans of action; not input about his involvement in past exploits. Cicero had left those documents in the corner of his small room at home. It seemed so empty now without Ursa beside him every night. "How long have my men been camped in Ostia?"

"All winter sir."

"And how are they now?"

"Fattened and bored. Ready to raise arms again in the name of a great commander.", Cicero whispered in excitement.

"Can they be ready to raise those arms soon?"

"After you were proven alive in the arena? They would fight tomorrow!"

Maximus nodded. "That won't be necessary, but I will need help in getting out and remedying the problem with the throne.", Maximus said. "I need for you to go and tell Lady Lucilla that I will meet with the senator that advises her."

"I will tell her. I am on my way to the palace now."

"What for? Do you keep watch over the inner activities for the rebels?"

Cicero frowned a little. "Actually that is Ursa's job as of late. Lucilla suggested that we send her in as one of the many concubines. I hadn't realized what would be involved for my poor sister. She is there now."

"Has he raped her?", Maximus whispered urgently.

"Not yet. He has promised to release her to me in two days. I'm taking her with me today if I can convince her to come.", Cicero replied. Maximus smiled and shook his head.

"And to think that she saved the little guttersnipe's life when he was a boy.", Maximus laughed. Cicero thought for a moment and then laughed as well. "Have you ever told her that it was he who she rescued?"

"No. And I don't think she even remembers it. It was so long ago.", Cicero said softly.

"Yes, but his scar is still there."

"Aye, but that's little concern to her while she's fighting to keep her innocence."

"This must be so hard for you, my friend.", Maximus said sympathetically. "I love Ursa as well. As soon as I am free, I will end his life and set her free."

"She will be free tonight!", Cicero exclaimed in a whisper. Maximus looked at him, urging him to be more quiet. Cicero shook his head. "I will go and inform Lucilla. Until then, be safe."

"You as well. Pass those sentiments on to Ursa.", Maximus said. As Cicero went to leave, Maximus grabbed his shoulder. "And tell her to split his face open the rest of the way if she can!" The two men laughed as Cicero left hurriedly. He darted past soldiers, artists, street performers, and peddlers to get near the palace gates. As he walked, the memory of what had happened to the emperor so many years ago came to mind.

Cicero had been a very young servant to Marcus Aurelius at the time. He had been sent to Lanuvium to serve his wife, Faustina as she tried to care for her sickly surviving son. Commodus had been the unfortunate survivor of a proceedure performed on himself and his twin brother. A mere months before that, Faustina's younger son had died from a plage only months after his birth. Of the thirteen sons Faustina had birthed, the twins had lived the longest and so far little Commodus was the only survivor. Cicero was eighteen years old. He hoped that the poor young prince continued to survive for his mother's sake. Cicero had been allowed to take Ursa with him. She was two years younger than the invalid son of Marcus. Commodus had begun lessons in government at this age as did all citizens that could afford education. Six was an important age for boys since their minds were believed to have nearly left childhood at this point. Ursa was too young to be forced into servitude. Besides this, Faustina and the other nobles adored the pretty little girl. She had a sweet voice and enormous eyes that made her irresistable to anyone with half a heart.

Commodus was usually kept in his quarters where he was safe. Galen stated that too much of the outdoor air and sun could damage the frail little boy beyond compare. On cloudy days where it was not too chilly or wet, the lad was allowed outside to play for a little while. Commodus truly enjoyed these rare days. He would romp endlessly through the fields and gardens pretending to be all manner of things. One minute, he was a soldier; the next, he was a tiger; then, he would become an elephant; after that, he was always a wild dog. One afternoon, Ursa had been allowed outside at the same time as the young prince. Cicero let his sister out of the exit to the kitchen with the warning to be careful and to be nice to any of the other inhabitants that were out enjoying the day. Ursa laughed and hurried past her brother. Commodus had been escorted to the front door by a groomsmen and led out into the gardens. Within a moment, he was out of sight for the poor, confused servant. For a sick child, he could run like a gazelle and disappear like a mouse. Commodus raced out onto the open fields surrounding the villa. He began to spin endlessly in circles, laughing until he collapsed and looked happily up at the sky. He closed his eyes and tried to let the dizziness cease. After a moment, he heard a low growl behind him.

He jumped and looked around. Standing a few feet away, hidden by a tall patch of goat weed, was an enormous wild dog. Commodus felt everything go cold. He had never been exposed to such fear before. He stood up slowly, noticing almost all the strength in his limbs had left him. The dog began to advance cautiously. It could smell the definite weakness in its prey. Commodus tried to shout for one of the servants or guards, but his voice seemed to be as weak as his legs. His body refused to respond to the command his mind gave to run for his life. The dog snarled and leapt forward. Commodus screamed as the dog landed ontop of him, clawing and biting at its living meal veraciously. He tried desperately to grab hold of the beast by the throat and hold it away from him. The dog nipped down, catching the screaming child's upper lip in its teeth and reding it in half. Blood coursed from every wound the dog had inflicted, numerous scratches and bites that were deeper than the angry growl of the animal itself. He felt terror like nothing else on earth and came to the realization that he was going to die. He knew what death was after awakening one morning without his brothers. He would soon join them in a most painful way.

The dog went for the kill, biting towards the boy's throat. As its teeth were but a few inches away, the dog suddenly winced and yipped in pain. A rock had hit the side of its head harshly. It ignored the pain after a second, but then another rock hit the side of its head at the ear, causing it to reel and howl. A third rock embedded itself in the animal's eye and sent it scurrying away from the prince, crying in agony and trying to adjust to the one working eye it now had to work with. As Commodus realized that the dog was gone, he felt a pair of hands taking him by the shoulders. He couldn't move from the pain and the fear, but he wanted desperately to hug this person that had obviously saved him. All he wanted was to be held, for the pain to cease. He wailed loudly as the person dragged him back to the villa. He began to hear shouts of worry and fear.

"He's hurt! Fetch Galen!", someone shouted.

"Gods on high! Look at all that blood, help get him inside!", someone else shouted. Commodus began to wonder within himself why the person that had rescued him wasn't carrying him inside. Come to think of it, why hadn't they carried him back in the first place? That question was short lived among the anguish that raged in him in every possible region on his tiny form. The last voice he heard was that of a very young man as two people picked him up.

"Ursa! What happened? Are you hurt?", the man had yelled. Commodus wasn't sure who the young man had been speaking to or why, but he hoped that whoever it was wasn't hurt as badly as he was. The ability to think shrank into nothing and he fell unconscious. Still standing at the steps of the villa, Cicero held on tightly to his baby sister. Ursa cried softly and held onto his neck. "You saved him, didn't you? That was so brave, little bear."

Ursa gave no answer, but continued to hold onto her brother as much as possible. She had explained what had happened to Galen later that afternoon. Unfortunately, the small praise she had recieved from both her brother and Galen was short lived. Faustina died within a few days of the incident. The siblings knew that the prince would never be the same again. Everyone was to head back to the capital since the emperor had sent for his son to come back and live with him. Ursa still missed the open landscapes. Cicero missed the freedoms. Commodus missed his mother.